Although it has been two years since I worked on a production of A Christmas Carol there is apparently a portion of my brain being used to store information about the props list. Last night I had a HORRIBLE NIGHTMARE about the show.

It is the opening performance 10:30 am matinee. I am at the theater and discover we have run out of all of the food props. Molly from the scene shop has been enlisted to go prop shopping while the crew presets. She is wearing a green shirt. She has to go to Safeway (across town) because for some reason we’ve ordered a 16″ chocolate sheet cake with chocolate icing.

The list includes:

– 1 box instant mashed potato flakes

– 1 jar microwavable brown gravy (Mysteriously the “turkey” is not on this list; I can only conclude in Dreamland there is enough turkey in the prop fridge).

– 1 box Maple Brown Sugar Quaker Instant Oatmeal – It has to be Maple although I will only use half a packet of powder flavoring because Scrooge thinks the flavor is too strong when the whole packet is used.

It is 9:30 am. Molly has to get the Safeway, buy the props and cake and return in time for me to prep & set the oatmeal for the top of Act I. Also, she has to do all of this on her bicycle.

That is when I awoke in a panic. My Man says I have been in this business too long.

All I want in a backpack is that it be water-resistant and comfortable for bicycling, convert to a stylish hand bag appropriate for business meetings, have conveniently located secure pockets but not too many, and match with my blue winter coat, orange trench, pink blazer and any other jacket I purchase in the future.

Whenever I clean I find scraps of paper with scribbled notes. This time they were in a little notepad in my car, jotted hastily in pencil during our road trip from Minnesota to California. There’s “Donner summit Vis Ctr. closed” which I remember thinking was funny (Do they serve food at the Donner Summit Visitor’s Center? ha ha ha).

Then there’s “Key – mailbox” which I must have written after talking to the realtor when we arrived in town.

Lastly is a little poem. I vaguely remember reading it on a billboard while driving through Nevada.

Recently I rediscovered this picture of my little sister and me in matching homemade neon green outfits circa 1984. When we were very little, my mom made most of our clothes, culminating each spring with beautiful Easter dresses. She continued through the mid-80s then (gave up?) opted for store bought just as I hit middle school and she started working more. Shame on me for coveting the name brands at the mall.

Make no mistake – it is not an accident that my shirt is oh-so-casually falling off my shoulder. I was trying to distract from the glasses.

I don’t know which is my favorite part – my sister’s tiny side ponytail or a that we’re rocking our neon green shorts-suits with matching lace trimmed ankle socks AND jellies.